Do You Hear The People Sing?
by Grommetik
Summary: The war between Voldemort and the Aurors is finally over, but Harry is left to clear up the mess. All alone. (Strong language, strong content. You have been warned.)
1. Did You Hear The People Sing?

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DO YOU HEAR THE PEOPLE SING?

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A/N: Okey dokey. I've changed it a fair bit. It's still the same story but, er, different. I wanted some different POVs because I realised that Harry's not the only person who's going to be upset with this. I also made it a bit more intense, so if you're really disturbed by really strong language or violent psychological trauma I'd advise you not to read it. But I hope you like it as much as you liked it before. Thanks to everyone who reviewed. 

**__**

"I like to think they were singing about something so beautiful that it can't be expressed in words, and it makes your heart ache because of it."  
-THE SHAWSHANK REDEMPTION-

When Harry Potter woke up, he could have sworn he was in the Hogwarts hospital wing.

Then he remembered that was impossible because he'd graduated from Hogwarts two years ago.

Then he remembered everything else.

Which is why, on that mild day in August, the other patients of St Mungo's Hospital for Magical maladies woke up to the sound of Harry Potter screaming. 

*

The new minister for Magic was younger man than Cornelius Fudge, although vastly more competent. People whispered that he had only gotten the job because he happened to be Fudge's nephew, that he only took the job because no one else would. But secretly, everyone was glad to have someone at the head of the Ministry of Magic. After Fudge's murder, there hadn't been the expected rush to seize power- everyone was too scared of Lord Voldemort. But the new Minister for Magic refused to subscribe to such cultural terror. "Let the Dark Lord come," he said boldly at his election speech, "Under me, the Ministry will be prepared and controlled. He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named will not dare to even tap at the doors of my impenetrable fortress." Melodramatic, maybe, but the masses were certainly drawn to his bravery. (Of course, the fact that he couldn't even say the Dark lord's name was of no importance.) In a society wreaked with terror in some of the darkest days it had seen, the new Minister for Magic had stepped in and led the way through the proverbial pitch black tunnel. Things had not been so bad since- well, since Lord Voldemort had been in power last time. The new millenium had opened with a lot of hope, however- thanks to the new Minister for Magic. His name was Opius Fartham. 

Opius Fartham prided himself of being mature for his age- even during school, he had been years above the rest of his class, psychologically at least. At twenty-five, he was the youngest Minister for Magic ever- another thing he prided himself on. 

But the trait he prided himself the most on was most certainly his calibre. His ability to stay calm when the masses were panicking. His plain, old-fashioned, stiff-upper-lippedness. He could look the most malicious opponent in the eyes and snap them back into place with a witty remark. He could read the most condemning rumours about himself in _The Daily Prophet_ and not bat an eyelid. He was a man with the heart of a true Englishman and the stomach of a concrete elephant.

So why then, when his secretary opened to door to his office and announced that Harry Potter was here to meet him, did he find his stomach squirming with an incomprehensible nervousness?

"Send him in, please," said Fartham, sitting down in the chair behind his vast oak desk. His secretary disappeared for a moment, then reappeared leading in a young man of about twenty by the arm. Fartham himself had never met Potter before, so in the first few seconds of seeing him for the first time, Fartham experience the same feelings everyone experienced when they first saw him. Reverence. Familiarity. Security. This was the boy who had laid waste to The Dark Lord's empire- twice, now. Then he had to remind himself what Harry Potter _really_ was- an Auror, and a very, _very_ powerful one at that- and therefore, untrustworthy. The Aurors had officially segregated themselves from the Ministry years ago, back when Voldemort had first risen again. Harry Potter may have been a war-hero, but he was still very powerful, and very powerful people who find themselves at odds with the Ministry of Magic are generally the ones who aren't sent a Christmas card. 

"Welcome, Mr. Potter. It's an honour to meet you," Fartham said, standing up The young man did not answer, but took the hand that was offered to him and shook with the enthusiasm of a dead fish. 

"Please take a seat." Fartham indicated the velvet-lined chair in front of him. "Can I offer you anything? Tea? Coffee?" Harry shook his head, looking around the room very slowly and deliberately, as if he were appraising Fartham himself. 

"Right, then, I won't waste any words, then, shall I? Please- take a seat," he repeated. 

Harry reluctantly sat down in the expensive chair- one magically designed to comfort any witch or wizard by massaging their back. Harry Potter, however, looked distinctly uncomfortable. Still no words left his mouth. 

Fartham swallowed. "I hope you're feeling better, Mr. Potter- you've been unconscious for quite some time. We were on the point of inducing a release from the coma ourselves when you woke up. To be unconscious for seven days is…worrying, to say the least." He paused in case Harry wanted to say anything, but the young man only offered silence. "I, uh," Fartham cleared his throat, hastily continuing, "So- how _are_ you feeling?" A question- he would _have _to say something now… 

In reply a sort of strangled grunt came from Harry's throat. 

"Sorry?" said Fartham, "I didn't quite catch that-"

"Fine."

His voice sounded as though he was unaccustomed to using it. It was quiet, gravelly, sounding as though it came from beneath several layers of rock.

"Well, that's good, because- I have been advised that the…subject I am about to broach may upset you. I must ask you about what happened at Hogwarts Mr. Potter, because- we need it for the record, and…well, there are still a lot of missing persons that we'd like to confirm the whereabouts of…but if it's still too fresh, we can arrange another meeting for another time…"

The silence of the man sitting across from him was deafening. Fartham felt perspiration begin to swell on his forehead. 

"Mr…Potter?"

"I'm fine." The reply was unexpected. Opius Fartham had to look up at his face.

It wasn't an unpleasant looking face by anyone standards. Fartham might even describe it as beautiful in a strange sort of way, with a shock of jet black hair contrasting with a white face, skin as clear as water and large dark green eyes looking back at him like still ponds from behind a pair of glasses. And yet between those eyes shone a jagged scar, blood red, splitting Harry Potter's face in two. It was quite starling to see the black, the white and the red of his face thrown against each other, in the midst of all of that, those two green pools- the eyes of someone who had seen war. 

He was exhibiting marvellous self-control; while Fartham looked anywhere but at Harry's face, while Fartham shuffled papers and capped and uncapped his quill, Harry sat there like a rock in a storm, staring at him with his eyes, which, Fartham realized, he found himself strangely drawn to. They were hypnotic, almost like an x-ray. 

"Are you certain, because-"

"Just get on with it, please."

Fartham nodded. Being ordered around by one of Britain's most prominent Aurors was not something the Minister of Magic was supposed to do- but he found himself picking up the list of missing persons, putting on his glasses, and clearing his throat. 

"Right, well," he said, "I would first like to get a few statements from you as is our understanding of the matter. On the thirty-first of July in the year 2000, there was a battle between two basic factions- fundamentally, those who supported Lord Voldemort, and those who didn't. Is this correct?"

"Yes."

"The side that did not support Lord Voldemort was made up of the vigilante group known as Aurors. Can you give me a rough estimate of how many Aurors there were, Mr. Potter?"

"Around six thousand."

"Good, that's what we have in our record as well. In addition to the Aurors, there were also those who are natural enemies of the Dark Forces- centaurs, unicorns, dryads, naiads, that sort of thing?"

Harry gave a slight nod of his head. Fartham avoided his eyes. "I understand you also had some unnatural allies as well- giants?"

"There were only a few," came the flat answer. 

"Very well," said Fartham, and made a note of it. "Now, Mr. Potter, I want you to acknowledge that the following information is correct. The vigilante group known as Aurors work within a hierarchy of sorts, correct?"

"Yes."

"You have your, er, legionaries creating different teams, with one person leading that team, known as a…?"

"Aurora."

"I believe you filled that position in your team, Mr. Potter."

"Yes."

"And the head Auror was Albus Dumbledore."

"Yes."

"And he led you into battle on the afore-mentioned day, in the grounds of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry."

"If you know all this, why are you asking me?"

Fartham looked up in surprise at Harry Potter's contribution to the meeting. "I-It's just a statement, Mr. Potter," he said, momentarily thrown by his eyes, "We need it for the official records. Can you sign here please?"

Harry took the quill and signed the piece of paper silently. His fingers cracked as he gripped the thin golden quill and his handwriting was shaky.

"Is that all?" said Harry, looking up at him. His green eyes were screaming at Fartham, screaming with the pain of someone who had seen war, who had seen people dying before them, people they knew.

"C-Can I just get a statement from you, Mr. Potter- the missing persons have not yet been confirmed."

Harry Potter visibly stiffened. Fartham hastened to continue. "If you don't feel ready, we can always-"

"Just – get on with it."

It was not the answer Fartham was hoping for. If he had to spend another minute with the screaming green eyes, he was sure he would go mad.

"Your team comprised of some forty Aurors, is this correct?"

"Yes."

"Among regular foot-soldiers, each team comprises of one Curor, Mage, Technician and Scribe, each of whom perform various duties which are essential to the team." He'd gotten hold of an Auror training booklet. Harry Potter gave him a nod of his head. 

"I understand your Curor was one Ron Weasley- a wizard with quite remarkable powers of healing."

This time, not even a nod- just a barely imperceptible noise from between Harry Potter's dead lips. Fartham took it as a yes and continued.

"Your team suffered some considerable loss- around half of them are still officially missing. I was wondering if you could shed some light on there whereabouts- we just want to know if they happen to be- well, still alive. Is it all right if I read out the names of the missing people, and you give me a statement concerning their…status?"

"Hm."

"All right then." Fartham was uncomfortable- uncomfortable in his own magically designed office to make him _feel_ comfortable. The plush reds, crimsons, soft greys and greens, so tastefully decorated, seemed to shy away from where Harry Potter sat in the middle of all the tender relaxing colours, like someone had thrown a rock into a still pond, causing distortions. He sat there, staring at Fartham, in black robes, just staring. At first Fartham had assumed he was staring right past him- but now he realised that Harry Potter was truly staring _at _him- almost as though he was trying to use his image to block out something else.

"Right, well- let's get this over and done with," Fartham said desperately. There was something inhuman about those screaming eyes, and he wanted Potter out of his office. "Mundugnus Fletcher?"

"Dead." 

Fartham paused, momentarily thrown off guard. He'd known Mundugnus Fletcher, and it didn't come as a surprise to him that he was dead but it was the way Harry said it. Almost as though he was saying anything else, like "Hello," or, "my, isn't the weather clement?"

Fartham was not used to death. Both of his parents were still alive, though they were getting on a bit. He had never known his grandparents and thus, never had to live through their deaths. In fact, the closest brush with the expiration Fartham had had was when his Uncle Cornelius Fudge had been assassinated. Even then, mourning, feeling the loss- all that had been an alien feeling to him. He had never known Fudge incredibly well, even though he had been his mother's brother. Death had given Fartham a wide berth throughout his lifetime, and he, for the most part, had been fairly indifferent to this fact. But here, in his very own office, sat a young man who not only knew what death was all about, but looked as though he wouldn't be out of place taking tea with the Grim Reaper in a graveyard somewhere. 

Death. Hah. Not in _his_ office. 

"Right. Erm, well, look. How about, I just read out the list of missing persons and they _aren't_ dead, just say so, all right?"

"All right."

Fartham cleared his throat for the fifth or sixth time. "Arabella Figg?" A roaring silence. He ticked the little box next to her name titles "DECEASED". "All right. Frank Longbottom?" Fartham had not been the only person to start worrying when Longbottom's sanity had been restored (at the cost of his own son's life, no less. Now there was a ruthless man if there ever was one.) Longbottom was powerful. Dangerous. So when Harry said nothing, Fartham felt more than a little bit relieved to tick the little box. And even more so when he asked about the whereabouts of Helena Longbottom- the wife- and Harry said nothing.

"Alastor Moody?" Fartham couldn't even pretend not to be relieved when Harry said nothing. Moody had been trouble for the Ministry ever since the Dark Lord's first rise to power. Fartham could well remember being a little boy, sitting under the kitchen table and listening to his Uncle Cornelius expostulate over _"that damned mad-Eye Moody! Granted, he gets the job done, but why does it have to be at such a _price…_.One day, he'll cause a full-fledged war, and won't he just love it!"_ Knowing Moody, he probably went out in the full-fledged bloodiness of the battle. He was a fighter, Fartham would give him that. He ticked the little box with a little too much relish. _Calm yourself, Opius._ He looked down the list. 

"Remus Lupin?" There was a cracking of knuckles as Harry clenched his fists. But he did not say anything. Fartham ticked the little box. 

"All right…ah, Minerva McGonagall?"

And for the first time, Harry said something. "I dunno."

"What do you mean, _you don't know_?"

Harry shrugged. "She's not dead, that's for sure. I would have seen her body."

Fartham winced. "Ah. Still missing then. Well, we'll look into that." He ticked the little box that said "MISSING" and read out the next name.

"Ah. Sirius Black." 

Nothing. But now Harry was not looking at him. At the sound of the name he had put his hands over his eyes and leant forward elbows on Fartham's smooth, mahogany desk. Everyone knew the story of Sirius Black and Harry Potter, and how Harry had cleared his godfather's name of all murder charges when he was only fifteen, presenting some astounding evidence to the Ministry. And, though Black had been discovered of practsiing illegal Transfiguration, as compensation for his years in Azkaban the Ministry had granted Black a full pardon, and a license to be an Animagi. It was no wonder Harry was upset. _Was_ he upset? It was hard to tell. He wasn't moving or making any sound, just covering his eyes.

"Mr…Potter?' Fartham said tentatively. "What happened to Sirius Black?"

"Girunnoshhhk."

"Sorry?"

"_I dunno!_" 

His voice shot out from between his hands like a curse from a wand, causing Fartham to jump. "You mean, he's still missing?"

"No. He's dead."

Fartham paused. "Is he dead or isn't he?"

"He's dead."

"Very well." The next name on the list was also familiar, and he hesitated before reading it out, wondering if Harry would be able to take it. "Um," he said, for possibly the first time in his adult life, "H-Hermione Grang-"

"Dead." 

It was like the cry of an animal, Fartham realized. A short, sharp barking sound, which had been repeated over and over. _Dead, dead, dead…_

"Um, all right. It's a pity, though." He was genuinely sorry, but Harry looked at him as though he were something on the bottom of his shoe, so Fartham hastened to explain. "Miss Granger was quite an asset to the Ministry. She'll be missed." He put a neat tick next to the name "Hermione Granger" on his list with sigh. "So many Ministry workers ran off to become Aurors in the past few years. If only they had heeded our warning, most of them would still be here with us." It was the wrong thing to say, and he regretted it as soon as the words were out of his mouth. Harry's knuckles cracked again, ominously. "One more now," Fartham said desperately. "Ronald Weasley?" There was a big long silence. Fartham looked up tentatively. "Is that a…a yes? Is he alive or dead?"

Harry was looking at his hands, but it was clear he was not really seeing them. His eyes were preoccupied with looking at something only he could see- in his mind. 

"Mr Potter?"

"What?" Harry snapped, starting.

"Ronald Weasley."

"He's…dead."

With a shaking hand, Fartham ticked the last little box. DECEASED. "Yes, well, that seems to be all. If you'd just sign here, Mr. Potter. Just for the record you understand. Then you're free to go, unless you'd like to stay at the Ministry for a few more days to recover."

Harry raised his head slowly to look at Fartham, almost as though he were seeing him for the first time. He held out his hands for the form and the quill and scribbled his name and the date in shaky handwriting.

"Thank you very much for this Mr. Potter," Fartham garbled as Harry signed the parchment. "We just need a statement, that's all. You might be called back in during the next few weeks to verify a few other people's whereabouts, is that all right?" No answer, of course. "Is there an address we can send an owl, or shall we just send it straight to you?"

"To me," came the soft answer.

'Excellent," Fartham said, as Harry handed him back the form. 'Well," he said, standing up and ushering Harry to the door, "It was a pleasure to have met you, Mr. Potter, and we'll see you again soon. I hope you feel better, yes, good day."

And Harry left. Fartham breathed a long sigh of relief. To his consternation, he found that his hands were shaking. So much for the stomach of a concrete elephant. He was just moving to the file cabinet to file the statement in his hand when something scrawled on top of it caught Fartham's eyes.

There, in the heavy black ink in Harry Potter's scrawl, scribbled over the title of the statement, were the words "A LIST OF SACRIFICES FOR THE MINISTRY."

For the first time in his adult life, Fartham felt tears sting the back of his eyes. He opened the door to his office once again.

"Mandy," he said to his secretary, "Could you please send Percy Weasley in?"


	2. Did You See Them?

**__**

"They create a wilderness and call it peace"  
-TACTICUS-

"Ron!" Harry bellowed. "Ron, where are you?"  
Ron's voice floated back from he other side of their tiny little flat. "The kitchen."  
"Come here, quick!"  
There was the sound of a chair scraping the floor, feet thumping the floor, and then Ron himself bounded into the study. "Harry- what d'you want for your birthday? I know it's a week off yet but I just can't think of what to get you, and-"  
Harry interrupted, indicating the fireplace, where he had just been conversing with Hermione via Floo network. "That was Hermione. She says Dumbledore wants to see us right away. It's about Voldemort."  
Ron's eyes widened a little. "We found him?"  
"I think so," said Harry with a grim smile.  
"Wicked." Ron's smile mirrored Harry's. "Shall we pop off to Hogwarts then?"  
Harry shook his head. "Nah. Hermione said Dumbledore wants to keep it top secret so she's coming here first, with a portkey, and then we're all going together."  
Ron's eyes widened even more. "She's coming here?" He looked down at his scruffy shirt and jeans doubtfully. Harry grinned.  
"You look fine."  
"The house is a mess."  
"I'm sure she doesn't care. She's been here lots of times when it's been messier than this."  
"You're right, you're right," Ron said, biting his lip. "I'll just go and clear up the kitchen a bit."  
Despite being best friends, Harry and Ron probably weren't ideal flatmates for each other, given that both of them were so used to having things tidied up for them thanks to spending years at Hogwarts that the state of their flat in London sometimes reached disgusting proportions. Harry sometimes had to make a conscious effort to leave things around- living in fear of Aunt Petunia's cleanliness all his life made it an automatic reaction to tidy things up.  
He smiled as the sound of Ron gargling mouthwash in the bathroom reached his ears. Harry knew Hermione knew perfectly well that Ron was in love with her, and to be honest, she reciprocated his feeling whole-heartedly. The two of them had even been on a couple of dates. But both were so shy of their feelings, and so scared of ruining the almost-decade-long friendship that they had, that Hermione was waiting for Ron to initiate anything, and he was waiting to find the courage. Harry found it all very amusing.   
The front door opened- Hermione had visited the boys so often that she let herself in, now.  
"Hello?" she called out.   
"In here," Harry called back, smiling as she appeared in the doorway. 'Hi."  
"Hi!" she said, returning his smile and holding up-  
"A toothbrush? That's our Portkey?"  
"What's wrong with it?"  
"Has it been used?' Harry said doubtfully.  
"I don't know. I think it's Dumbledore's."  
"Brilliant, one-hundred-and-sixty-year-old-man germs."  
"Don't be so immature, Harry."  
Harry obligingly stuck out his tongue at her, and she rolled her eyes. 'Where's Ron?' she laughed.  
"Right here," said Ron, once again bounding into the study. Hemrione beamed at him.   
"Hello!" she said. "are we all ready to go?"  
"Yes," the two boys answered.  
"Well then," said Hermione, and all three put their hands on the toothbrush crawling with one-hundred-and-sixty-year-old-man germs.

*

When Harry was fifteen the Aurors segregated themselves from the Ministry, and became a vigilante fighting group against Lord Voldemort. Partly because the Ministry refused to acknowledge that Voldemort had risen again, but mostly because Cornelius Fudge, who was still the Minister for magic at the time, ordered it. Never one to let anything go undisputed, he announced the "official" parting of ways- from the moment he announced it, Albus Dumbledore and any of his associates were regarded as highly dangerous. So it became that they were two separate teams, both fighting against Lord Voldemort but totally opposed to each other as well. Upon leaving school Harry got a job as an Auror, and prompted Ron to become one too- not that he needed much convincing. It took a while to convince Hermione to become an Auror too, as she had already began a job at the Ministry, something that made Harry incredibly disappointed.

But eventually she came around and for the past year the three of them had been fighting the Dark Lord and all his followers. Eventually they tracked him down- he was at Hogwarts in the forbidden forest, but he was not alone. Hundreds of thousands of Dark followers, death eaters and Dementors were in the forbidden forest that day, and for a moment Harry had thought they were done for- but then Dumbledore had come, and with him came and army of Aurors and giants and centaurs, ready to fight against Voldemort.

The Forbidden forest became a bloody battlefield that day. Tremendous losses from both sides ensued- so many people died or lost their souls to the Dementors that Ministry workers were still out there looking for survivors and checking who was dead. Harry was the one who had alerted them there- he had woken up to find himself surrounded by the dead, and eventually came to his senses enough to contact the Ministry. 

Harry's team had consisted of (among others) himself, Ron, Hermione, Mundugnus Fletcher, Arabella Figg, Mr and Mrs. Longbottom, Professor McGonagall, Daedelus Diggle, Remus, Sirius, Seamus Finnigan and his mother, Evelyn; Mad-Eye Moody, and Hagrid. It had been Hagrid and the headmistress of Beauxbatons academy, Olympe Maxime, who had extended the hand of friendship towards the small colony of giants on behalf of Dumbledore. So the giants had ended up fighting on the side of the Aurors, another reason why the Ministry refused to associate with them. Giants were natural killers, as Ron had once told Harry, and they felt no remorse about snapping a death eater's neck. They got the job done though, Harry would tell himself unfeelingly. They got the job done. The giants were the extra push they had needed to finally defeat Voldemort. Or at least, Voldemort's army.

Lord Voldemort had disappeared. That much Harry knew. He had cornered Voldemort, ad they had been fighting, and then something…something happened. But for the life of him Harry couldn't remember it. Voldemort had pointed his wand at Harry to administer the fatal Avada Kedavra curse, and Harry had pointed is wand at Voldemort to do the same. But neither had ever said it. There had been a flash of light (had it been Harru's powers? Or Voldemort's?), and the sound of Voldemort screaming in pain, an amazing pain in Harry's scar- and the next thing Harry knew, he was waking up to find the battle was over, and everyone was dead. And Voldemort had disappeared.

But Harry didn't care any more. As far as he was concerned, Voldemort could go stuff himself. Ever since Harry had leant he was a wizard, Voldemort had haunted his dreams and forced Harry to live in fear. Well, he was sick of it.

He wasn't going to be afraid any more. 

There was nothing to be afraid of, because the worst had happened. Ron had been killed. Hermione had been killed. Sirius, Remus, his mum, his dad, Neville…all for the sake of Voldemort. People he had known, loved with all his heart, had been killed for that man. It was such a powerful shock it swept all the feelings out of him. He didn't even feel hatred or sorrow or anger. Just nothing. Just pain. 

He knew there were questions he should be asking himself, like where was Voldemort now? And where were they keeping the survivors? And how hurt were they? And what had happened to the few surviving death eaters? Were the Dementors back at Azkaban?

But he didn't want to know the answers. Right now all he wanted to do was curl up somewhere and sleep without dreaming. 

But there was another question that had crept into his head, something he shouldn't- couldn't- ignore, because it was something that needed- _really_ needed- to be answered.

What had happened to Dumbledore?

Harry, wrapping his cloak tightly around him, walked out of the wrought-iron gates of the Ministry of Magic, which closed magically behind him. The day was grey. Slate clouds hid the sky from view, and dirty fallen leaves scurried around Harry's feet as he walked along the cold, stone cobbled street. Magus Alley was usually a busy, crowded place, full of Ministry workers off to Diagon Alley for lunch or store owners who had set up in the Alley that led to the Ministry selling there wares. But today there was a repressed quiet around the place. People hurried past, skirting around him, cloaks wrapped around themselves and heads bent, faces grey from mourning, faces grey from despair. 

Harry didn't care that people were skirting around- he was so used to it by now that contempt from the general public rolled off his back. He had always been famous, but his choice to become an Auror had made sensational headlines. His dad had been an Auror. So had his mum. So he'd followed in his parents' footsteps without meaning to. Hermione had said it was in his blood. Ron had said it was freaky. Harry had known it was a coincidence, but nevertheless, felt secretly glad that he was doing things that his father had once done.

"You truly are you father's son." Sirius had said that once.

It occurred to Harry, as he left the Ministry, that he didn't know what to do next.

So where to now, Harry? Hogwarts was a definite no, as was Remus's house in Oxford. Hemrione's house? The Burrow? Their families would have to know sooner or later. Privet Drive? He'd be less than welcome there, but the wizarding world was becoming increasingly dangerous for him anyway. There were so many memories- sooner or later he'd run into something which would force him to let it in.

Magus Alley led directly onto Diagon Alley, through a wall in an alleyway between Eyelops Owl Emporium, and Mr. Ollivander's Wand store.

Harry shivered as he entered the alley. So often he had come here with friends. It was impossible not to see memories around every corner, to see Ron and Hermione's faces; Ron's longing as he looked at things he could never afford, Hermione interest in school books that she saw in the window. It was impossible not to… 

__

"Hermione, why on earth would you want a book about the Medieval Council of Witches in Europe? Are you trying_ to bore yourself to death?"  
"Just because it's summer Ron, doesn't mean I don't have to pick up a book for three months. Unlike some people I could mention, certain people who could be illiterate for the amount of books _they _read."_

"Oh, leave Harry alone, Hermione."  
"Very funny Ron. You know very well whom I'm talking about. You know, if you just did a bit of independent research you might be able to bring you History of Magic grade up to a D…"

Harry shook himself. Memories. Weird, stupid things. He didn't want to be reliving memories. 

Diagon Alley couldn't have been a bigger contrast to Magus Alley. Whereas the Ministry was chilly, muddled, grim, Diagon Alley was bursting with life and music and celebrations. Harry wasn't surprised. The general wizard community believed Voldemort to have died, died at the hand of Dumbledore and his Aurors. They believed that once again, the terror had been banished and they could live without fear. 

Hurrah for the Aurors, they were right all along, what a shame we supported the Ministry all throughout the war against You-Know-Who, but no hard feelings, eh? Oh yes, terrible shame about the losses of course, brave men and women all of them, but at least the Dark Lord's gone, they got the job done, didn't they? That's all that matters isn't it? They got the job done. You-Know-Who's dead, dead and gone, never to bother us again. Ah yeah, those Aurors, heroes- each and every one. And the boy lived, didn't he? The boy who lived lives again! What a champ, what a wizard!

What a load of shit.

Harry walked like a shadow cutting a path through the colours under the grey sky. A few people who recognised him cheered and patted him on the back. Harry shrugged away from them all. He felt too empty, too limp and lifeless to let himself be filled by the life and celebration that surrounded him.

__

"Oh, cheer up Harry!" Ron said coaxingly, slapping him on the back, "It's graduation! School's over! Here, get sloshed, it'll help."  
Harry took the mug of mead Ron handed him, but didn't cheer up. School was over- that's exactly what the problem was.  
Hermione didn't look especially happy either. "If Ron's keeps going the way he's going," she said quietly to Harry, "He's going to end up with his head in a toilet, throwing up his lungs. Should we stop him, do you think?"  
"Nah…" said Harry after a moment's hesitation, "Should be good for a laugh. It is graduation after all."   
"Come on, you two!" shouted Ron, "Sing with me! Hogwarts, Hogwarts, hoggy warty Hogwarts, teach us something please!…"

"Oh, Mr. Potter!" someone said, grabbing his hand, "Oh, Mr. Potter, thank you! Thank you for saving us again! You know, you're my son's hero, would you mind giving us an autograph?"

"Yes," said Harry pulling away, 'I've got to go."

"Oh, Mr. Potter, wait…"

But Harry hurried off, deaf to the man's cries. Rita Skeeter had given him a reputation six years ago of being sulky, disturbed, temperamental and dangerous, and he didn't care if people thought it was true. People could think what they like, but it was Harry's friends who were dead, not theirs. People could get stuffed.

He repeated that thought aloud with savage inflection. "People can _get stuffed_." And he kept the thought in his head as he dodged around the coloured wizards and witches, who were in actual fact, probably decent people, but who Harry just couldn't be bothered with now. 

He couldn't be bothered with himself. 

All of a sudden, a very, very familiar voice met his ears. "Harry! Hey wait- Harry! Harry stop please!"

And for one incredibly stupid moment, as Harry turned and for a split second saw a flash of bright red hair and long legs pelting towards him, he could have sworn it was Ron. But it wasn't. It was Percy Weasley.


	3. Scarce to be Counted

**__**

"And if God choose, I shall but love thee better, after death."  
-BROWNING-

"This is ridiculous," Ron muttered. "You mean to tell us he was right under our noses the entire time?"  
"Not exactly, Ron," Dumbledore murmured. "It has only been for the past week or so that he has taken refuge in the Forbidden Forest."  
"Well, you'd think Hagrid or someone would have noticed, right?"  
Dumbledore squinted at Ron over his spectacles. "Dark Magic is a very powerful thing, Ron. Concealng it is one of the fundamental tasks of a Dark witch or wizard. They don't' want anyone to know what they have been doing."  
Ron fell silent, and looked out the window of Dumbeldore's office, from which one could see the entire Hogwarts Grounds- including the forbidden forest.  
"So, what now?" asked Harry. What he would have really liked to do was leap on his broomstick, fly down to the Forest, and finally slay the man who had been the cause of all his misery since he was a year old. He hated Voldemort with a passion unmatched by anyone in Britain. All his life, he realized, he wanted revenge. And now, it seemed, he was finally going to get it. It made his heart pound. He quickly stuck his sweating hands in his pockets and tried to look normal. Dumbledore had been giving him that X-Ray stare of his ever since he'd broke the news that Voldemort and a hundred thousand followers had made a hideout underneath the tangled roots of the trees of the Forbidden Forest. To Harry's mind, the fact that Voldemort was invading his school- the place where he had so very many memories and finally found himself- the fact that the creature that called himself Voldemort was hiding there was yet another reason to kill him. Hogwarts was Harry's home- the last time Voldemort had invaded Harry's home, he'd murdered his parents…  
"Well, Harry, what we do now," said Dumbeldore, still regarding Harry carefully, "Is wait. We'll gather our forces right here at Hogwarts- discreetly- Voldemort mustn't know that we know where he is. We will contact every Auror in Britain by Owl, arranging a time and place for a Portkey, with which they transport themselves here gradually."  
"Every Auror in Britain?" Ron repeated. "Don't you think that's a bit drastic?"  
There was a heavy pause. Eventually Dumbeldore let out a long sigh. "No, Ron, I do not. I fear the thing we have tried to avoid for so long will finally come to pass. This war has been a long time coming…"  
At this Ron turned and gave the wall a sharp pound with his fist. "Shit!" Hermione immediately crossed to his side and began to whisper soothingly in his ear, as Ron turned, put his face in his hands, and gave a long despairing moan. Ron had wanted to avoid a full on battle with the Dark Forces at all costs. So had Hermione- in fact, so had everyone. Except Alastor Moody, perhaps. And of course, Harry himself. Despite knowing all along that war was the only way he would be able to avenge his parents, Harry had gone along with everything that Dumbledore had said to do to avoid war- in his heart of hearts, he knew that a battle with the Dark Forces would be terrifying and cause the loss of many lives- but all the while, he'd been dreaming of revenge. Perhaps, he thought, trying to keep his breathing steady as Dumbledore shot him yet another piercing look perhaps, he thought, as his heart jumped- perhaps now, it'll happen. 

*

"Are you…all right?"

Percy squirmed in the velvet-covered chair. He'd never felt less all right in his entire life. "Yes- yes of course."

"I am sorry that I had to be the one to break the news to you," Fartham said, trying to sound gentle but really just sounding uncomfortable. "Would you like to send an owl off to your parents or should the Ministry do it?"

"You can- the Ministry, please." Percy said softly. There wouldn't be any point to him writing a letter home- what was he supposed to do, confirm what they'd already known was going to happen? Confirm what Percy had known as soon as he'd heard about What Happened In The Forbidden Forest? No. Better to have an official letter, to have it in the records.

__

Ron Weasley: Dead. His mum would keep it in that little box on top of her cupboard where she kept all those other things of sentimental value- her engagement ring, Charlie's first wand which Ron had ended up breaking, the two notices that had been in _The Daily Prohpet_, announcing that Williams Weasley of Ottery St Catchpole was the only student in his graduating class to have received twelve O.W.L.s, and then again, a similar notice that had been in the paper when he, Percy, had been awarded twelve OWLs. And in that little box among her little treasures would nestle that horrible letter, the same one they sent out everytime someone died in the face of Voldmeort, the same letter he himself had had to send out hundreds upon hundreds of times as Ministry workers were murdered, and murdered, and murdered. _Dear Mrs. Weasley, We regret to inform you that…_

She already had one in there, kept from when Bill had been killed after coming face to face with the prominent Death Eater Lucious Malfoy. Bill and Ron. Could she take it? Percy wondered. Will Mum be able to stand this? 

Will _I_ be able to stand this?

Percy thought for a moment and tried to remember the exact last thing he'd said to Ron. Then he remembered and realsied he didn't _want_ to remember.

That was it. 

"Oh…dear…" Percy heard Opius Fartham say as he buried his face in his hands and burst into tears. _RON RON RON RON RON RON RON RON RON RON RON RON RON…_

"Ron," Percy heard himself sob. Crying? The last time he'd cried…was when Bill died. But at least he'd said a kind word to Bill. At least. "Ron!"

"Mr. Weasley- do calm down…" Fartham begged. 

Calm down? _Calm down?!_ "My brother is dead!" Percy yelled, completely aware of how ridiculous the situation was- how he, Percy Weasley, was yelling tearfully at the Minister of Magic- but dear god, did it _matter_? 

"Percy- Percy-" Fartham was sputtering. But no matter how many times Fartham said his name, Percy could not calm down. He was finding it hard to breathe. There was something rising up his throat. He was about to throw up.

Something had snapped inside him like it had never done so before. Something had been roaring, screaming, trapped inside him for so long and it had taken Ron dying to let it out. Percy had never wanted to fight with Ron- he loved Ron. Ron was his brother. 

"Why didn't I love him this much before he died?" Percy sobbed. 'Why do I have to love him _now_?"

"Look!" Opius Fartham said, thoroughly put out by the situation, by the sound of it. "Is there…someone I can get you to talk to? Someone who can help?" He suddenly seized Percy's arm. "Harry Potter? You're familiar with Harry Potter?"

Percy nodded, wiping his eyes with the sleeve of his robes, and feeling bizarrely like he was five years old. "Would you like to talk to him?" Fartham said. Percy nodded again without thinking. "He just left- just five minutes ago."

That was all Percy need to hear. He leapt out of the velvet covered chair, slammed through the oak odor of the office, and bolted, bolted out of the Ministry and into magus alley- oh god there were so many people- he dodged, left right, left right, Ron, Ron, Ron- Jesus Christ what was dad going to say? Is that Harry- no, that wasn't him- through the gate into Diagon Alley- oh no, they were still celebrating, "Stop it! Stop!" Percy yelled to the deaf ears of the party-goers- and then- oh dear Jesus there he was, hunched over like a shadow in the midst of a group of colourful flowers. "Harry!" Percy screamed- oh my god, was that his voice? Since when had he been so ragged?- "Harry!" And Harry turned. With a howl, Percy vaulted himself at Harry and threw his arms around the startled boy. "He's dead," was all Percy could say as dry sobs wracked his throat. "He's dead, he's dead and I never got to tell him I love him."

"Percy…" Harry said in his ear. And that seemed to be all that could come out of his throat. For a little while- it could have been five minutes, it could have been half an hour- Percy cried into Harry Potter's shoulder. It was an activity he had not experience for quite some time. When had he stopped crying? When he joined the Ministry? It was, in a strange was, so reassuring to feel wetness on his cheeks- he hadn't even cried this much when Bill died, and never into anyone's shoulder. Especially not Harry Potter. Ron's best friend. So bizarre was the experience that Percy half-expected when he drew away, to see his Mum standing there instead of Harry, his Mum, all warm and perfumey and crooning There, there, Percy dear. It'll all be all right, Percy. Ron will be okay, Percy. 

But it wasn't his mum, it was Harry. The shock of seeing him startled Percy, and his tears dried away. It brought him back to reality. "Harry- you look-"

"Are you all right?" But his voice was so dull and flat? Where was the Harry he used to know?

"I'm okay- just- shocked, I suppose."

Harry paused and nodded. Then a little while passed in which neither of them said anything. Percy stared at his feet, feelings the beginnings of shame. Here he was an adult of twenty-four years old, and…

__

RON RON RON RON RON RON RON RON RON RON RON RON RON RON!

God, what was he thinking? Ron was his brother for GOD'S SAKE! It was all right to cry. Moretears leake onto his cheeks.

"I'm sorry," Harry murmured. 'Percy…I'm sorry/. This is all my fault."

"Don't be stupid."

"No, it is. I could have…stopped him. He went running after…I could have stopped him."

"I know you," Percy sniffled, and he actually amanged a small smile. "You were probably defending him to the end."

Harry shook his head. His voice was barely above a whisper. "But I got him there in the first place. I suggested he become an Auror. It's my fault. And I should have stopped him. After he put Hermione down, I should have stopped him."

Percy wasn't sure what he was talking about, but in any case, he didn't want to think about Ron being an Auror. Because that was what had started all the arguing. That was why the last thing he ever said to Ron was…

"Your mum," Harry said. (He might as well have said "our mum"). "Does she..?"

Percy shook his head. "Not…yet. I think she's probably guessed." He paused, thinking about that for a moment. 'I did." But she'd be hoping. Mum would be hoping that…news would come. "Ron's in the hospital. He's injured but he's okay." As if that weren't bad enough, but to be dead…

"I'm sorry," Harry said again, so softly. As though he were afraid his voice would break something. It did, anyway. As more tears flowed down his face, Percy managed to get some words out.

"No, I am," Percy blurted out. "I argued with Ron…told him not to do it. He never told you?" Numbly, Harry shook his head. Percy nodded, and breathed heavily through his nose. "We haven't spoken since he became an Auror. Last thing I ever told him was that…" And Percy found he couldn't say it. Not to Harry. Not to Ron's best friend. "I was so stupid," Percy choked out, "I wish I could at least have said sorry. And I am sorry…everyone was always picking on Ron, and I could have stopped it if I wanted to, you know. I could have told Fred and George to leave him alone. I could have been a better brother. But I wasn't. Harry, I wasn't, and now he's dead." (There it was again. _Ron Weasley- dead.) _His voice had been getting steadily more ragged while he poured this out, and now his voice cracked, and he gave a sort of strangled shriek. RON RON RON RON RON RON RON RON RON RON…. 

"Oh…" Percy sniffled, looking at his watch, "I have to go, I have to get back to the Ministry. Just wanted to catch you before you go." He looked into Harry's face. "You'll be all right?"

"Yes," Harry said automatically, knowing there was no real sincerity in the statement. Percy nodded and brushed Harry's shoulder with his hand. "Look, you'll have to go talk to mum. Once the Ministry tells her. She'll want to know what happened. Exactly how it happened."

"Don't you?" Harry asked.

Percy hesitated. "Not yet," he said softly. He turned to go, but then Harry stopped him.

"Percy-" he said, and Percy turned back, questioning. Harry paused. "The survivors…of my team…where are they? Do you know?"

Percy hesitated, then nodded. "The hospital, Harry. St Mungo's." Harry nodded, and suddenly, awkwardly, reached out and touched Percy's hand. Percy felt tears come again as he watched Harry disappear into the mass of festivities. 

__

"I don't want to know you, any more, Ron. Don't you know? The Aurors will fall. You'll all come crawling back to the Ministry. How can you voluntarily side with them? I don't want to know you."

What a thing to say to one's own brother. 


	4. Bring Him Home

**__**

"They will live again in freedom in the garden of the Lord, they walk behind the ploughshare, they will put away the sword. The chain will be broken, and all men will have their reward."  
-LES MISERABLES-

"…came as soon as we could…" Harry could hear Sirius saying. His pace towards Dumbeldore's office quickened at the sound of his godfather's voice. Dumbledore said something in a low murmur that Harry couldn't quite hear. Another voice joined theirs. "Really? Well, he hasn't- I mean- has he said anything?" Remus!  
Harry vaulted up the last couple of stairs and into Dumbledore's office. There stood Dumbledore, next to the only two people Harry would ever have the hide to call "father-figures". They broke into simultaneous grins.   
"You made it!" Harry exclaimed, crossing over to Sirius and grabbing his hand. Remus clapped him on the shoulder.   
"Is everyone okay? Ron, Hermione? They're here?"  
"Yes. So are Frank, Helena, Minerva and Daedelus. No one else yet though."  
"It is taking some time to owl everyone separately," Dumbledore said wearily, apologetically, "And certain cloaking methods must be undertaken so that the letters are not intercepted, of course. Most people should be here by tomorrow, however."  
"Huh," said Sirius, placing a hand wearily over his eyes. Dumbledore said something about going to the Owlery and left. The remaining three plonked themselves down in the chairs in Dumbledore's office. Both Sirius and Remus looked entirely washed out and tired. The air in the office was one of weary resignation- all three knew what was going to pass.  
"I still can't believe it." Remus said, breaking the silence. "Six years trying to avoid it now it's going to happen." Harry didn't, of course, have to ask as to what he was referring to. Remus had particularly against having a full-fledged war. War, he said, would only serve to spread discord among the Aurors and those against Voldemort. There was already a great rift between the Aurors and the Ministry- that was bad enough…  
"But," Harry suddenly found himself saying, "Won't it be better? Just to end it, I mean?" He felt Sirius's sharp gaze alight on him but Harry refused to meet his eyes. He stared resolutely down at his feet in a would be-nonchalant- this-really-is-my-opinion sort of way.   
"War is never better, Harry."  
"But won't it be better than all these- these-murders? I mean- god!" Harry felt angry, all of a sudden, thinking about the events of the past six years, "Six years of Aurors murdering Death Eaters, Death Eaters murdering Aurors- it's all stupid, isn't it? We could have done this years ago- just a big battle- we could have killed off Voldemort and all his stupid Death Eaters, and who knows, maybe all those murders could have been stopped." He paused, feeling another flush of anger. "So many good_ people…Bill Weasley, Justin Finch-Fletchley, Mavis McTrout, Poppy Pomfrey, Bertha Jorkins, Cedric Diggory- even Cornelius Fudge didn't deserve to die!" Another pause. He felt a bit strange, naming all those dead people. "The slow murder of each of our sides," he concluded softly, "Is like a slow death for everyone who lives."  
"So you're suggesting," Remus said, after a long pause, "That you'd rather a savage battle where millions of people are murdered in a single day?"  
"That's not what I'm saying."  
"Well it certainly sounds like it!" Sirius snapped, and Harry was surprised to see that he was on his feet, looking furious. "Jesus Christ Harry, I've never heard you talk like this before, and quite frankly, it's scary." Harry looked up and met his godfather eyes, very frankly. Sirius glared right back at him. "War is the most inhuman, savage, primitive, unfeeling activity that we can partake in, and you're condoning it. The slow murder of our side, as you put it- well, god- at least that reminds us that we're human beings! They're not just dead statistics Harry, they were all human beings! They're not a list of reasons to start a war with Voldemort!" he was nearly shouting now, and Remus stood up- always the mediator.   
"Settle down," he said in a quiet voice. Sirius sat, obviously upset. Harry's heart was jumping again. Remus fixed Harry with a steady stare. "You seem to be forgetting, Harry," he said in a voice that made Harry feel bizarrely like he was thirteen again, "That killing someone on a battlefield is still a murder. The Death Eaters are human beings as well- don't ever, ever forget that." Then he paused to let it sink in. "I've an idea," he continued, very softly, "That war is the only way you'll get to Voldemort."  
"What makes you say that?" Harry whispered.  
"Because it's exactly what James thought."  
There was silence for a good fifteen seconds. Then Harry got up, took a deep breath, turned to Remus and said, "Never talk about my father again."   
"Harry-"  
"LEAVE ME THE FUCK ALONE!" Harry screamed at Remus.   
Then he left Dumbledore's office, leaving a deafening silence behind him. _

*

St Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies. Of course. It was obvious.

But someone had shaved off Hagrid's beard.

Harry stood looking through the window in the door to Hagrid's room. It wasn't visiting hours but they had let him in. Famous Harry Potter and all that. Had to make allowances. So who'd survived, out of them? Hagrid had. So had Madame Maxime. Seamus Finnigan. Evelyn Finnigan. A few other Aurors Harry knew quite well, and even more he didn't know as well. All in all, about a thousand Aurors and five hundred Death Eaters. But Hermione hadn't. Ron hadn't. Sirius hadn't. Remus hadn't. How odd.

But still…someone had shaved off Hagrid's beard. Why had they done that? It looked strange. Wrong. It didn't make sense. He still had a wiry mane of hair on his head but his face was clean shaven and hairless. He'd never seen the bottom half of Hagrid's face before. Had it always looked like that?

The half-giant was breathing steadily, in, out, in, out. The nurse that was in there checking all his vitals had finished- she came outside and shut the door quietly. She gave Harry a warm smile.

"Mr. Potter- to what do we owe this pleasure?"

Harry didn't answer. "What's wrong with him?"

"Deep sleep curse. It takes a while to break. We're feeding potions into his veins but…well, he's very large, so it's taking longer than usual."

"Oh. So he'll be all right?"

"He'll be in top condition in a few days."

Something tiny in Harry's heart sent a little burst of joy up his throat. It was the first warm feeling he'd had for what seemed like a hundred years. "Excuse me, but why have they shaved off his beard?"

The nurse smiled again. "We had to. His chin was gashed- split open. We had to shave off the beard so we could stitch it up, you see."

"Oh," said Harry again, nodding. "Thank you." The nurse bobbed her head and walked off down the grey corridor. Harry stood looking at Hagrid for as while longer. It was a while before he placed the reason for the ache in his heart. He would have given anything, absolutely anything, for Hagrid to stand up and give Harry one of his giant hugs that always left his ribs aching. He would have given anything for a sense of normality, for something to be familiar. Now even Hagrid was unfamiliar, beardless and strange. 

__

"HARRY! What d'yeh think yer doin' down there?"  
Harry's heart leapt. So did the witch; a load of fingernails cascaded over her feet and she cursed as the massive form of Hagrid, the Hogwarts gamekeeper, came striding towards them, beetle black eyes flashing over his bristly beard.  
"Hagrid!" Harry croaked in relief. "I was lost…Floo powder…"  
Hagrid seized Harry by the scruff of the neck and pulled him away from the witch, knocking the tray right out of her hands. Her shrieks followed them all the way out of the twisting alley into the sunlight.

Harry could always count on Hagrid. He would trust Hagrid with his life.

"HARRY!"

The sudden exclamation of Harry's name made him jump. He turned in the direction of the voice and saw none other than Seamus Finnigan pelting towards him. The breath was knocked out of him as Seamus leapt at Harry and hugged him tightly.

"Seamus!" Harry gasped. "What are you doing here?"

Seamus lifted his bandaged arm. "Got a nasty bite from one of those hell hounds the death eaters were setting on us. Only just woke up yesterday." He was staring at Harry as he said all this very quickly. "I'd given you up for dead, Harry," he went on. "I had. The nurse told me the only other people in hospital that were in our squad were Hagrid and me mam." Seamus paused and bit his lip, staring at Harry with an unsettled expression on his face. "I'd given you up for dead," he repeated finally. Harry shook his head. "They're full up here so they kept me at the Ministry."

"What about the others?" Seamus said. "Hermione, Ron, Frank and Helena? What about them?"

Harry thought of what to say for a moment or two, but obviously Harry's hesitation was enough to tell Seamus all he knew. He gave a miserable sigh and hung his head. 

"I thought so."

There passed between the two boys a long silence, in which Seamus covered his eyes just as Percy had done, and sighed again.

It was possibly the longest amount of time Seamus had ever gone without talking, as far as Harry knew. And he had such a miserable expression on his face. This wasn't the Seamus Harry knew. This wasn't laughing, grinning, talkative, bouncy Seamus, who could always be counted on for a laugh.

Harry suddenly wanted to grab Seamus by the shoulders and shake him and yell, "SMILE! LAUGH! DO SOMETHING _NORMAL_ FOR CHRIST'S SAKE!"

Finally Seamus looked up. "They're all dead, aren't they?" he said, pulling at a lock of his sandy coloured curls. "Everyone who's not in the hospital…it's just me, mam, Hagrid and you left, isn't it?"

"I don't know where Minerva is," Harry said.

"And Dumbledore?"

"Disappeared."

Seamus nodded and pulled at his hair again. "Voldemort?" he said, after a moment's silence.

"I don't know."

Seamus closed his eyes and nodded. Harry stared at the unfamiliar morose expression adorning Seamus's usually perky features and felt that interesting pang again. Except this time it wasn't so much interesting as just…wrong. _Seamus, please smile, _he thought. _For the love of god, crack a grin for me. Just one. One'll do. Then I can go and feel a bit better. Everything's so strange. None of it makes sense. Now I don't even have your smile to rely on. Crack a joke. Tell that stupid joke about the American, Australian and Irishman in the boat. Don't stand there twiddling you hair and looking like you're about to cry._

"Look, Harry," Seamus said, looking over his shoulder, "I just came to check on Hagrid. I've got to get back to me mam's room- I want to be there when she wakes up."

"You'll tell her?"

"Yeh, course I will," Seamus said, nodding. "Oh man, I can't believe it…I mean, I guess I knew everyone was dead but hearing you say it. Makes it so real. I'm sorry, Harry, I really am."

"Why should you be?"

"I wish I coulda been there for you insteada hanging around here all day, you know? Where are you staying?"

"I don't know yet."

"Well, you know our fireplace. Drop by and tell us what's going on. We've got to find Dumbledore."

"I know."

And suddenly Seamus smiled, but it was a sad smile, not like his usual elfish grin at all. "We didn't really win, did we? Everyone says we did, but…we didn't really."

Harry let out a sigh, something he hadn't done since he wok up in the Ministry. It made him feel slightly better. His throat didn't feel so tight now.

"No. No we didn't, Seamus."


End file.
